Chapter 1: Inciting Incident
The house was quiet. I glided through its belly-of-the-beast halls like a shadow, silent in my dark attire, hair tied back in a knot. The faint scent of Chanel No. 5 wafting in the air made me smile slightly. Just right for this cat burglar.
I'd spent weeks mapping the place; how annoying when I found that the usual security system had morphed into a fortress worthy of a Bond villain. My jaw locked with frustration.
I had always known that this would be a challenge, but I couldn't pass up such a lucrative score - the chance to dive headfirst into the riches of the woman who had made Fortune Magazine's list of 'The Most Fabulously Wealthy Socialites in the World': Vivian Blake.
Vivian's reputation was more elusive than her mansion's hidden alarm codes. Stories had made their rounds in the city's underworld circles: that she was ruthless, cold, untouchable.
But yet, something about her intrigued me, a sixty-year-old mystery after all. I'd heard whispers of her rosy cheeks in the candlelight, her mischievous laugh echoing through grand salons, and those eyes with an ends-justify-the-means sparkle that equally inspired and unsettled.
Stealthily, I trailed into the drawing room. I recognized Vivian's signature tea set gleaming on the mantle, an extravagant assortment of carved animals and Oriental vases adorning its surface.
She had pristine taste. I tried to focus on counting the minutes and seconds, calibrating my movements with each tick of the antique grandfather clock standing guard by the fireplace.
A sudden noise made me freeze. My breath caught in my throat. The television had turned on, filling the room with the hushed murmurs of a French news channel. The volume was low, but loud enough for me to notice that the sound of its broadcast didn't match the silence of an empty mansion.
My heart pounded, but I remained rooted.
Had she left it on by mistake? It was unlike any homeowner, especially one as anal-retentive as Vivian Blake, to forgetfully leave an appliance on.
It was her. Had to be.
Fight or flight warred within me. But I wasn't the kind to simply bolt and leave empty-handed. I pushed my back against the nearest wall, and peered round the edge.
There she was, unmistakable - in all her elegant glory.
A flowing gown of midnight silk draped over her sculpted figure. A glass of red wine was half-heartedly clutched in her manicured hands, seemingly forgotten as she stared into the television.
I recognized her posture too well. There was a lingering ache for attention, a hunger in her eyes like a cat prowling the street corner. I'd seen it countless times, with victims of neglect. I felt a strange connection to her, almost intrigued.
Although she was my target, I found myself admiring the way she exuded opulence and class effortlessly. Her beauty would softly glow in the dim light, making her look more ethereal than anyone I had ever met before.
Leaning against the wall, I waited to see if she would spot me. Her gaze flickered across the room, taking in the priceless artifacts surrounding her, but she seemed to miss me tucked away in the shadows.
Finally, she rose from her seat and made her way towards the liquor cabinet.
Stale perfume wafted into the air as she opened a bottle of Chantilly and poured herself another glass, all the while keeping her back to me.
Her fingers were slender, long-fingernailed, and gleamed even under the flickering candlelight. They were so familiar yet entirely different from the rough, workman-like hands I was used to handling. I couldn't help but wonder what she did with them when she wasn't swirling expensive wine.
With a final swig, she headed towards the television, muting it with a swift click of her remote.
In the suddenly quiet room, the only sound left was the tap-tap of her heels echoing in the empty space. My heart raced like a wild animal in the jungle - how could I escape without being discovered?
I shifted my weight, knowing I had only seconds before she turned around again. As chance would have it, the lights went out. Vivian cocked her head questioningly, her eyes searching for the source of the sudden darkness. In the shadows, I slipped away, stealing back the way I had come, my pulse hammering in my ears.
As I reached the exit, I stopped for a split second, risking a glance back towards the living room.
There she was, a lonely figure bathed in the dim light of a single candle, frozen in the very spot from which I'd only just vacated. I wanted to tell myself that I should take my chances and disappear, but something held me back. I knew the game wasn't over yet.
Deciding to take the risk, I silently stepped back into the room, waiting at the very edge of her vision.
The candle flickered against the wall, casting shadows across her face as she watched the silent television, her wine still untouched.
Something stirred inside of me. I couldn't let my prize just walk away without a proper introduction. With a soft click, I flicked a match, rekindling the fireplace, and watched in amusement as Vivian almost leapt from her seat.
“Well, that certainly got your attention,” I remarked wryly.
She paused for a fraction of a second, composure smoothing over her like a curtain drawn shut.
With a raised brow, she retorted, "So, you must be the mysterious thief who's been eluding my security system for weeks. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Her wit caught me off-guard, but I was used to improvising. "Oh, you know, just passing through. You wouldn't happen to have any extra sleeping bags I could borrow, would you?"
Vivian laughed softly, a silvery sound that bounced off the high ornate ceilings.
"I'm afraid not. It seems like we've started on the wrong foot." She pursed her lips in mock contemplation, eyeing me up and down as she walked over to the fireplace, artfully arranging the logs into roaring flames.
"Why don't you tell me your name, thief, before I have you arrested?" Her words sounded stern, but that unmistakable glint of amusement was back in her emerald eyes.
It only took a moment of hesitation, and I decided to take Vivian up on her offer. What could it hurt? "Riley," I said, leveling my gaze at her. "My name is Riley."
She held out her hand for a brief shake, before picking up the wine glass that she had left untouched since the lights went out. "A pleasure, Riley. To what do I owe such a pleasant-" she paused, searching for the word, "-intrusion?"
I couldn't help but laugh.
If she found me charming enough to call it an intrusion, then I'd have to admit she had a way with words. "Interesting choice of words, Vivian. I'd say this isn't exactly a pleasure palace of mine. More like resorting to desperate measures to make a living."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to let me know that she was offering a chance to try a different strategy. "Desperate indeed. Honestly, I can hardly believe I'm having this conversation with the... jewel thief of the century.
But then again, it seemed I wasn't the only one with secrets tucked behind well-tailored suits and proper manners.
"You know," she started, raising a perfectly sculpted brow, "there's more than one way to earn a living. Why not find an honest occupation?" She spoke as if mentioning the latest fashions or gossips floating around the circle of her high-society friends.
"Doesn't hold the same thrill as stealing," I confessed with a grin, turning the conversation back to safe ground.
"Ah, excitement.
Temptation. I can't say I haven't been drawn by those powers myself," Vivian replied with an enigmatic smile.
"But you were born into this world," I argued gently, trying to steer our conversation back towards more familiar territory. "I wasn't."
Vivian's smile faded into a line of thought, and perhaps some concern. "But is this the life you truly want, Riley?" she asked, taking a slow sip of wine. "The danger, the constant shadows, the fleeting nature of it all?
You may find it exhilarating, but I know there's more than just greed that keeps you breathing." Her words lingered in the air, and I was taken aback. For a moment, I saw my reflection in her gaze, and it left me bare and vulnerable.
My smirk resurfaced after a beat. "What makes you think you've got the faintest clue about why I do what I do?"
"I can read you like an open book, Riley," she retorted, holding my gaze evenly. "It's not just about money or possessions.
I've had enough wealth to last me several lifetimes," she continued, as she walked over to a beautiful antique sideboard, which was tastefully decorated with a crystal decanter and two glasses. "But still, I crave more. Not for the sake of ownership, but for the experiences they can bring me. I've been to so many places, met countless people, yet there's still so much left to discover."
With a graceful sweep of her hand, she indicated for me to take a seat on one of the plush velvet armchairs. I obliged, still trying to gauge where she was going with this.
"Riley, you're young, intelligent and incredibly resourceful.
You could be anyone you want to be. Isn't that a more thrilling prospect than hiding in the shadows?" she asked, pouring me a glass of amber-colored liquid as I pondered over her words. Deciding there wasn't any harm in entertaining her questions, I accepted the glass and took a sip – a rich, smoky whiskey that spread warmth right down to my toes.
"I can be whatever I want to be? When do we leave the real world and enter 'Barbie: The Movie'?" I said, not hiding a mocking smile.
"Do I look like I'm playing dress-up in Barbie's dreamhouse? This is the real world, and I have to play the hand I've been dealt."
She let out a soft scoff. "Well, you certainly don't have to dress the part of a thief every day."
That struck a chord within me, reminding me of the unforgiving streets that first led me to crime - I couldn't bring myself to tell her so.
Instead, I tried to brush off her words with a flippant response.
"Wouldn't you rather I wear designer brands than dive headfirst into a dumpster?" I quipped, the joke inadvertently landing flat.
We fell into an awkward silence, nursing our glasses of whiskey. It was clear that Vivian had struck a nerve with her earlier statement, and I didn't blame her. Despite feeling like a fish out of water among the robes, diamonds, and champagne, there had been a time when I could never imagine myself living any other life. But with each successful heist, the weight of that life seemed lighter and more distant.
I guess that's why I couldn't completely resent Vivian's remark, even if it struck nerves I thought I'd long buried.
The air thickened with tension as I glanced around the room. The delicate ornaments adorning the walnut shelves glinted ominously, casting flickering shadows along Vivian's plush armchair.
"You have a point," I conceded, draining the last of my whiskey. "Not everyone can dress like they're attending a gala and still rob people blind as a bat."
Vivian smirked.
"Glad we agree," she said bluntly, placing her empty glass alongside mine on the table between us. "I can't stand cheap exploitation - well, except in my art collection, of course." A wink followed the comment, and I couldn't help but chuckle.
"Duly noted," I said, smacking my lips and taking another sip. I felt my body relax for the first time since I'd stepped foot in her mansion. Perhaps this woman was more than just a cold-blooded socialite.
I didn't need a Ph.D. in psychology to deduce that. Surrounded by Douglas Firs, her hair cascaded down behind her shoulders, framing magical green eyes that seemed to hold a thousand stories within themselves.
Vivian moved closer, coming into my personal space. I could almost feel the heat radiating from her slender frame. The room dipped into silence, only broken by the soft crackling of the fireplace.
Her fingers twirled a strand of her golden hair, biting her lower lip between her teeth.